


A Funny Thing Happened at a Stark Tower Gala

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attending one of Potts and Stark's parties undercover as a noted scientist means Melinda May has to dress impractically and spend the evening with Phil Coulson as her husband. That's easy enough, so is pretending to have three demanding and lovable children. Returning to herself at the end of the night is more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before the season one finale. I have no idea what craziness will be involved so I left Ward and Triplett out so it would be easier to write fluff.

"I don't get it."

Melinda picks up another hairpin and pins up a soft black curl, then another.

"Should I get the back?" Simmons says, slipping around her to finish pinning up Melinda's hair. "I'll get the back."

Skye swings her legs, balancing on the marble counter in the huge Stark Tower bathroom. Potts and Stark have a whole set of apartments in the top, apparently for themselves and visitors. Banner's over often but nothing looks damaged. His control is impressive.

Skye watches Melinda pin up her hair in the mirror, curious. "You hate undercover."

Melinda shuts her eyes as Simmons coats her hair in obnoxious, floral-scented hair spray. "I do."

"You look amazing. You have fancy French shoes that I can't pronounce."

"Louboutin's" Simmons says perfectly. "I took French at A-level, along with biology, chemistry and-- well, that's not important."

Melinda glances at her feet. The shoes are reasonably balanced for a high heel but they're too tall to be useful. "I'll need to take them off to move quickly."

Skye tilts her head at the dress hanging on the hook behind them. "And this dress, Pepper Potts knows the designer and she dropped it round. No one does that."

Simmons sighs and strokes the dress. "They do if you know the right people."

Melinda shrugs and slips out of her tank top. It's not the kind of dress where she'll get to wear much underneath it and she'd rather have a few surprises before she plays the bait. "I can't carry a gun."

"Handbag!" Simmons reminds her, lifting a beaded bag that can't possibly fit a full-sized pistol. "Fitz is letting you borrow our prototype mini-ICER. He wants to call it the ICICLE but I think that's a little silly because it's in no way resembles a water stalactite."

"You're beautiful. Really beautiful." Starring, Skye slides off the counter. "Isn't that fun? Didn't you ever play dress up? When I had to wear the same pair of jeans for two months, I would have loved to be able to do all this. You even have prom hair."

Melinda can't even dignify that with a roll of her eyes. Her hair's sticky and feels overdone. It never holds curls and it'll start falling by the end of the night. Hill did the profile for this cover and it the whole outfit fits. Yet she feels like she's being paraded around like a fancy target. "Next time, you are welcome to have prom hair."

"I get to play waitress." Skye tugs her black waistcoat and sighs. "It's not the same."

Simmons pats Skye's shoulder. She stands straight enough to perfectly blend in as a server. "Your hair has to be elegant and simple, not eye-catching. We need Agent May to be eye-catching. And you are."

Melinda smiles, even though this lipstick makes her lips sticky. "I'd much rather be a waitress."

"If I could pass for being married twenty years and having three kids--" Skye sighs and flushes a little. Her age doesn't bother Melinda, why are they so gentle with it? "Are we sure we want the kids in the cover?"

"Family is an easy thing to talk about," Melinda reminds her. "It'll give us something to bring up."

"How are you going to improvise three children's worth of backstory?" Skye asks.

Reluctantly stepping out of her trousers and setting aside her bra, Melinda reaches for the dress and Simmons and Skye help her slide it over her head. It's surprisingly comfortable, even though her back is bare and it's cooler than she thought with the window open.

"We'll manage."

"You also need to pass for a couple who's been married for twenty-years," Simmons reminds her, hovering. "Do you know which side of the bed you each sleep on?"

"Yes."

The quick answer sends a flush over Simmons's face and Skye raises her eyebrows. Skye's about to ask because unlike Simmons, she does want to know, but Phil knocks on the door. Melinda knows immediately that it's him because Fitz would knock faster.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes-" Melinda says. She can't handle much more fixing up.

"Don't rush us," Simmons protests, checking Melinda's earrings and makeup before handing her the clutch with the mini-ICER.

"Can you really walk in those?" Skye asks, shifting her feet in her flat, sensible shoes. "All night?"

Phil knocks again before she has a chance to answer. "She'll be fine, Skye. May has impeccable balance."

"Her cover is being threatened by HYDRA, I think impractical footwear is one of the smaller problems this evening," Simmons insists. She checks Skye over while Melinda folds up her own clothes and sets them aside. They offered to find a hotel, but Potts insisted there's space in the tower apartments. Melinda had her doubts, but there's room for their team and half of what remains of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Her own clothes are a comforting black and this dress is deep pink, which suits her skin tone, but isn't her. It's too bright, too eye-catching, because that's her job tonight. Be the centre of attention, hold the eyes of everyone in the room so that when HYDRA comes, it'll come straight for her.

Phil's in a very sharp suit, something that seems to have come from the back of Tony Stark's closet, but they're close enough in size that it fits him well. He grins and it's that special little smile that she loves to see.

"Wow."

"That's what I said," Simmons adds. "It really suits you, May, having your hair up like this."

"It's impractical."

Reaching for a curl, Phil nods but pulls his hand back before he touches her. "Yeah, but it's nice."

Simmons and Skye somehow managed to disappear while he's trying to resist playing with her hair.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Dr. Xia is known to be female in her forties. Maria might be able to pass, but Simmons or Skye definitely wouldn't. If this goes south and we have to fight our way out--" she stops. It has to be her.

He reaches for her hand, winding his fingers into hers. "I have something for you." Pulling a slim wedding band out of his pocket, Phil slides it onto her finger then holds up his own matching ring. "There."

"What side of the bed do you sleep on?" she asks, making him smirk.

"Whichever one you want me to."

She pats his shoulder and heads out of the bathroom. He has two pistols in his jacket and a knife on his ankle. She can't even fit a knife on her inner thigh in this dress and he knows that. That might be why he keeps smiling like that at her. He's certainly seen her in less. 

Fitz stops mid-sentence when they emerge from the bathroom. Staring with his mouth open, he appears to lose the capability of speech. Simmons nudges his chin and he elbows her.

"You didn't say you were doing that."

"I said cover."

"Cover, like dressed as a scientist getting an award, cover, not Mrs-Robinson, I mean, Doctor- Doctor not Robinson cover."

"Fitz, you graduated years ago, don't get any ideas."

He hits Simmons and they mutter to each other before settling. Melinda adds twins to their cover story in her head. Twins first, then a little girl, one with her father's charm.

Fitz hands around their earbuds. "Constant contact."

Simmons, Skye and Fitz all turn left, heading into the service corridors of Stark Tower so they can blend in with the hundreds of people it'll take to pull off an event like this. She and Phil have to be front and centre. He takes her arm and she dredges up her best smile. It stings him to see it, like it always does, but he buries his sorrow quickly.

"After you, darling."

* * *

The party swirls around them. Stark hired a jazz band, and they're good. The music is boyant and cheerful without being overpowering. Phil stays close, always on her arm. It adds to their cover. Dr. Xia's emails spoke at length about her husband and family, so anyone looking for her will know how close she is to them. HYDRA's agents will be looking for that. She's known Phil for well over two decades, so she sinks into the intimacy between them. One of his hands barely leaves her back as Pepper introduces her around. He's the unimportant man on her arm; her stay-at-home husband who raised their children while she changed the world.

He doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. Their stories build on top of each other. She's a workaholic who never realised she was pregnant until nearly the second trimester. He nearly could barely speak when they found out it was twins, but learned to be calm for her when she was overwhelmed in the middle of the night. He rubbed her feet. She kissed him senseless when work went well.

Their children had a functional star map on their ceiling. They went from winning science fairs to going to the very best universities and they couldn't be prouder of their scientist twins. Their third was a surprise (to her more than him), he laughs and defends himself.

"You knew we were trying."

"I thought we were trying to have a good time!" she protests, then laughs, feigning being tipsy on the very excellent champagne neither of them can actually drink. Simmons and Skye keep slipping by them with hidden glasses that are non-alcoholic and taste nothing like real champagne, but they fake it. Phil licks his lips and stares at hers as if they're covered in sugar he needs to lick off. They're surrounded by scientists and corporate CEOs and all the people who attend a Stark Gala and all they have to do is pretend to be smitten with each other.

Melinda allows it to appear as if she's had a little too much champagne because she sways on her heels (yes, they are impossible to stand up in all night without making her knees ache), and he rests his hand on her back. He aims just a little high and his warm palm collides with the bare skin of her back and she shivers. For a moment, she could believe her own lies. He's warm, familiar and all she wants to do is take him to bed.

His eyebrows raise, she laughs and there, surrounded by lies, they grin at each other like idiots.

"I didn't want to believe you when you started dropping hints about me being pregnant again," she murmurs, leaning closer to him. "I thought we had our team picked out."

He lifts her hand and kisses it. "I know you didn't think we were ready for another."

"We were so busy."

"We're not any busier now."

"No?" She runs her fingers over his, drawing him closer so that everyone around them starts to pay attention elsewhere as their world turns inward. "We have her in college, the twins doing post-docs, my car's in the shop, you won't let me drive yours--"

"You've never asked to drive Lola."

"I have to ask?"

He looks wounded and she kisses his cheek. "Yeah, you have to ask. I can't just leave the keys around, not with our youngest."

Skye brings them more flutes of not-champagne, even though both of them are doing an admirable impression of being a bit too far gone. They've started to lose the little crowd of admirers because they're not paying attention to anyone else. The CEO who's been trying to offer her a job all evening finds someone else to poach, the man who keeps touching his jacket because he's waiting for her to be alone (probably carrying a cheap ICER knock off) shows sudden interest in the canapés and Phil tugs her in.

"I see you in all of them,. Your wisdom and patience. They learn so much from you." He's just staying in character, keeping up the charade, but it's so real when he says it. His heart seems to be right in front of her. He strokes Melinda's cheek and she backs them towards the edge of the crowd.

Physical displays of affection make people uncomfortable. She kisses him because it's cover, and it makes the last few sets of eyes peel back from them. He kisses her back, just a little clumsy and enthusiastic because he's supposed to be drunk. She tugs him towards the entrance, winding her hand around his wrist. They say polite, hurried goodbyes, slipping through the crowd because they've just remembered that the kids are out of the house and they can make love anywhere. They bid goodnight to Potts, who slips another tracking device into Phil's pocket because they can't be safe enough, and she worries.

Melinda kisses her cheek, laughs and promises she's never had this much fun at an industry gala.

Their driver comes up in the elevator and they pay little attention to her once they realise she's part of the team that's after them. It's an obvious grab; not even subtle, so perhaps it's not HYDRA after all because they'd be so much more clandestine. Phil whispers that the driver's shoes are wrong for her suit. Melinda nibbles his ear and taps in morse code on his neck that she agrees.

So obvious, it's disappointing. Their cover was seamless: one of their best efforts and it's entirely wasted on a simple driver snatch. It won't happen in Stark Tower, too protected. The night's cool and clear. They lean against the wall of building outside while the driver opens the door and Melinda coyly rests her hand on his thigh because there are ICER darts in his pocket and she really didn't have space to smuggle anything under her dress.

Pretending to stumble in her heels on the way to the car, she feigns a mild twist of her ankle on the curb. Still laughing because they're both supposed to be intoxicated, Phil kneels down to help her out of her shoes. Her shoes did make her feet ache and she needs them off before the grab happens. She holds them in her hand, feeling the weight of them as a weapon. Clinging to his arm for balance as if she could barely stand up without him, Melinda leans against his shoulder.

The driver comes round to insist they get into the car. She attemps to be polite, but she's just frustrated enough that they realise this is it. This is the grab. They're meant to be in the car, subdued for transport. The driver tries to cover her impatience.

May abruptly sits back down on the cold curb, realising that her ankle hurts more than she thought. They're far enough down the street from Stark Tower that they're supposed to be outside Stark's security grid, but no one realises how sophisticated (and paranoid) his system is. They're well within Stark's sight lines and Maria can have backup to them in a moment. Phil kneels down again, using his body to block her.

"I think I twisted it," she complains with a wince and an intoxicated giggle. "I even think it would hurt, if I hadn't had so much--"

He kisses her forehead and then shakes his head. "I'm sure there's a security guard around here."

"I can take you to the nearest urgent care centre, Doctor, Mr. Xia. It's no trouble." The driver indicates the car again, her face all gentle concern even though they're probably starting to push the window of their grab to an uncomfortable limit and everyone's starting to get nervous. It's almost too easy to see the tension in the people around them.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz--"

Phil lifts her hands around his neck and smirks. "I know." She leans in close as he lifts her up.

"Three on the sidewalk behind you."

"Two across the street."

"One on the other side of the car--"

He carries her easily, as if he's done it a hundred times. She relaxes, appearing as comfortable and apologetic as she can.

Then it explodes around them. Phil turns and swings her with her legs as a weapon to take down the driver. The supposedly quiet back street erupts in motion and chaos. The cold, dirty pavement is almost greasy beneath her bare feet. Using her shoes, Melinda deflects the electrical prod one of their assailants directs at her head. Flesh impacts her own, then gives, and Phil whirls and dodges beside her. They fight back to back, her bare feet stinging on the pavement.

One of their attackers shatters the window of the car and broken glass rains onto the pavement. Phil grabs her, pulling her close so she can balance her unprotected feet on his shoes. He catches her waist, her legs slip around his and then she's up, on the car roof. Her feet squeak on the wax and all the eyes are on her, but they want her alive. She slides down to the trunk and takes out the man sparring with Phil. Her hose are already torn and her arms and legs are covered in scratches.

Melinda envies Phil's suit coat when she's smashed back into the rear window. Safety glass bursts into little cubes but they still slice into her skin.

Their backup arrives before the police lights even appear in the distance. Hill's people are well trained and Stark supplies their equipment, so the whole thing's wrapped up before the police arrive. Her knuckles ooze blood, and she's drenched in sweat. Her hair's tumbling down on her shoulders, hairpins falling to the pavement. Phil won't let her get off the trunk of the car, because she managed to destroy her shoes when she used them as a shield and the street's covered in glass.

As the police start to arrive, she buries her head in his chest, feigning shock and confusion. Her injuries could pass for defensive wounds. Phil takes off his coat and puts it around her shoulders, perfectly sliding into his role as her concerned and bewildered husband who has no idea what just happens. All of the attackers are down, none conscious enough to inform the police that their targets had them defeated before Hill's well-trained backup arrived.

An officer checks them both over and pronounces their injuries superficial. A cut on Phil's cheek needs a butterfly clip, but neither of them need stitches. Another police officer hands over her running shoes and socks that were in the back of her car so Melinda doesn't have to walk back to Stark tower barefoot. They're a little big and set a sharp contrast to her dress and Phil's jacket. Melinda smiles at her, because the gesture is kind. Phil thanks the officer and takes the shoes. Taking Melinda's feet in his hands, Phil checks them for pieces of glass before he slips the borrowed socks on. He laces up her shoes and ties them carefully, as if he's done it a hundred times.

When Hill arrives to take charge and handle the paperwork, Melinda's makeup's smeared all over her face, Phil has his arm tightly around her and they're both rushed away by Stark security.

The running shoes that aren't hers and much more comfortable than the ruined fancy French heels, but she's very short next to Phil and the rest of security in the elevator. They could let go of the cover, but his arm's still around her back and she's snuggled into his jacket, which must actually be Stark's because it smells like him.

When the elevator opens into the secure top floors, Simmons, Skye and Fitz all pounce on them as if they've been gone for weeks in a war zone.

"How was the mini-ICER?"

"What happened to your shoes?"

"You took them all out--"

"Before your backup even got there."

"And you ruined your dress--"

"Did it pack as much of a punch as a full-size ICER? I had to make the bullets smaller and Jemma said she couldn't fit in as much dendrotoxin--"

Phil holds up his hands and waits for them all to stop talking at one. "The mini-ICER worked great, Fitz, but it's slow to reload and hard to do in combat."

"Are you both okay?"

Melinda nods, trying to centre herself and let go of the cover. She misses Phil's arm as soon as it's gone, and she doesn't want to give up his jacket. "It's superficial."

Phil holds up his bloody sleeve. "Not mine. We could both use a shower, but we're fine."

"Hill's going down to the station with the assailants, to see if any of them set off any alarms in the database," Skye says. She's already out of her server outfit but Simmons has yet to change. Holding up an unopened bottle of champagne, she grins at them. "Pepper Potts asked us to save this for you. I think it's the good stuff."

Simmons takes the bottle and looks it over, her eyes wide. "This is a Belle Epoque from the Épernay region." No one around her seems to appreciate that and she sighs. "It's really good."

Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, Phil smiles. "After we shower and change, we'll break it open. May probably has glass in her dress and I've ruined this shirt."

Fitz starts to say something about there being another bathroom on the other floor and Simmons' hushes him and Skye draws his attention to something on her laptop. The three of them huddle around the screen, suddenly ignoring them.

Phil waves to the bathroom, offering it to her first. She shakes her head. "I'll need help with the dress, and my hair."

Maybe it's because she was just kissing him, perhaps that she's spent all evening staring lovingly at his face, or something deeper that she doesn't want to put words to yet; she doesn't want him to be out of reach.

When they're shut in together, he removes his shirt, then pauses with his tank underneath. She's seen his scars before, and his as bloody and dirty as she is. She tugs his undershirt free from his trousers and pulls it over his shoulders. Phil reaches for the pins in her hair, his fingers searching her scalp and gently pulling them free.

"How many are in here?"

"Most of the pack. My hair's heavy."

He smiles, eyes soft as they meet hers. "I remember."

Her breasts only have the thin layer of her dress between her skin and his chest. His bare arms are so close that she could kiss them and the comforting scent of him overrides that of blood. He takes his time with her hair, careful to remove all of the pins and shake out the curls so it won't tangle. Her hairpins sit in a pile on the marble counter. His clothes land in the corner while she takes off her shoes. He's naked in front of her, then it's down to him to remove her dress.

Tiny cubes of glass tinkle against the floor and he uses her dress to shove them out of the way. Melinda shakes out her hair, then guides his hands down to her underwear. She kept her own, and they are the only practical thing she's been wearing.

"We're not actually drunk," he reminds her.

She nods and watches his lips. "Or married."

They could remind themselves that they're friends. That this was a cover and that their lives have taken both of them in a very different direction than a house and children. Perhaps there was a chance, years ago, for them to make other choices, but they're here.

Phil eases her underwear off of her hips and down to her knees so she can step out of them. Her blood's up and her heart's still pounding in her ears. It's adrenaline; she can taste it in the back of her throat. They could just get in the shower, check each other's injuries and go drink champagne.

It's an option.

His naked body is centimetres from hers, waiting. He'd never push, never ask if he wasn't sure. His silence is trust, faith and understanding.

She kisses him, drawing his body to hers until she's pressed against the cold wall behind her and his hips are flush with hers. "I won't remind us if you don't."

He takes her hand, kissing just below the wedding ring that's not hers, yet fits perfectly. "How long do we have before the 'kids' need us?"

Chuckling, she toys with his hands, then stands on her toes to kiss him. "Long enough."


	2. Chapter 2

May's foot runs over the back of his calf, teasing. She could wedge herself between him and the wall and ask him to take her here, against the tile. Sweat, blood and dirt shouldn't be a turn on. They were in danger a moment ago, and maybe they shouldn't be working through that with sex.

Not that they haven't before. He's given her his body when he had no other way to connect with her; no alternative to remind her that she matters. She's always mattered.

Her lips capture his, covering them; owning them. He surrenders because it's her, and she's always had him. He trusts her, that he can give her. She's not something he's ever feared. Even at her darkest, when she couldn't look at him and her orgasms only made him cry because they were so distant. Once, he lay beneath her and she looked through him. 

She strips the wedding ring from his hand, reclaiming him from their shared lie, no matter how pleasant it was. Melinda pulls off her own and he takes it, holding it just long enough to remind himself that this life it's not empty. Their choices gave them wonders, strength and purpose. That unraveled road can fade into myth. The truth, their truth, is her flesh pressed to his, the scent of adrenaline and her. 

"In the shower," she says, both request and command. 

He obeys, turning on the water and pulling her in with him as it falls. 

Melinda turns it hot, standing in the steam as makeup rings down her face. Reaching for her skin, he rubs it off, freeing her from illusion. He washes her hair, running his hands through waves and lather while she runs nimble fingers across his scalp. She shuts off the water and they stand, steaming, searching for breath and each other. Her hand runs over his scar, then up across his shoulder. He keeps his eyes on hers, watching her take him in. 

He's different than the last time she saw him naked. He was broken, then remade. The last time he held her, she was broken, and now she's starting to glue the shards together. She smiles and it reaches her eyes; she cares for Skye, for Fitz and Simmons. She cares for herself, not in the way she did when she retreated, but in a braver way. A way where she sees him and though he always wants to melt, he knows they're stronger now. 

He kisses her without sacrifice and slides his hands over her wet skin to feel her, not to keep her sane. Melinda kisses him because she wants him, not to cling to the last shreds of her humanity. She guides his hand down, slipping it between her thighs where she's wet and slicker than water. He strokes tentatively and she nibbles his lip until he moves his fingers with more purpose. 

Her moan sends blood rushing down, heating him more than the shower ever could. Her hand grips his erection, toying with him as it hardens. Balancing with one leg on the edge of the bath, she guides him inside of her. Phil barely has time to stroke her breast in foreplay. She gasps, easing closer even though she's tight and the sensation of her heat around him is almost too much. Melinda shifts, her back against the wall, one leg rising over his hip. 

He lifts her and she whispers that she's sorry, she's rushing, but she needs him. 

"It's okay."

"It's not." She rocks her hips against him and tugs him closer. He flicks a thumb across her clit and she groans, hungry. "We should do better."

"We should fuck properly?" he teases. Pushing her back against the wall, he slides in deeper. 

"Yes."

"Just not now."

"Yes." She drags her fingertips across his shoulder. "Please." 

He kisses her, because he needs that connection, and she trusts him to hold their balance. It's hard; their feet slide and his bruises from the fight they've just gotten out of start to sting. He slips into her, finding his way deeper as she starts to relax. He hasn't had sex since he came back from the dead and it's different. 

He's different and she's somehow familiar and new. Melinda sucks his lip, pulling him closer. She could control her breathing, she could force herself to wait. She's always had so much power over herself, but this time she drops her guard. His fingers twist across her clit, taunting until her heart races against his chest. He'll go with her, because he always goes with her. He's here for the fall, for the sharp sound of her breath against his neck. Her hands dig into his back, then his shoulders. He balances them against the wall, thrusting into her, watching her eyes darken. 

Heat blooms, then creeps up his spine. She might have let her control go; he has none. She's his undoing, too wet, too smooth, too warm--

She snaps, suddenly rigid against him. He stops, holding her tight, letting her tremble. It's her shy kiss, the clumsy meshing of their lips, that sends him over. Spilling into her, he wonders what it would be like to create life instead of nurturing it. Her feet return to the floor of the bath, her head on his chest. Stroking her breast, he sighs and closes his eyes as she turns the water back on. Sweat and the mess of sex run down the drain. Melinda keeps kissing him, finding new places to press her lips against him. It's new and there's something so intimate about her mapping his body that his eyes sting. 

They towel each other off, suddenly practical even though he's half-hard again when she touches his thigh. 

"Later?" 

Doesn't she know that she doesn't have to ask? That he'd come to her bed any time she offered because he knows her; he knows what it means to be trusted with her heart. 

"Later," he promises."In a bed, with sheets."

"You'll tangle them."

"It'll be your fault." 

They wrap towels around each other. Her legs gleam in the soft light of the borrowed apartment. Fitz, Simmons and Skye watch them emerge from the bathroom, temporarily forgetting that they're all sharing the same bag of pretzels. None of them seem to be capable of speech at the moment, so Phil nods towards one of the bedrooms. 

"We'll just change."

Maria Hill can find anything, she's always had that skill. Clothing for all of them, including pyjamas, lies on the table in the kitchen. Phil grabs the dark blue, which is certainly his, and the grey, because that'll be hers. She's always more practical than anything, and though Maria must have been tempted by colour, she's gotten what Melinda will wear. 

They retreat to a bedroom together, taking the double bed. Removing her towel means he can toy with her wet hair, and Melinda smirks at him because she's never understood his fascination with it. He kisses her neck, then just behind her ear and she moans just enough to make emerging from the bedroom seem like the worst idea he's ever had. 

"We have to open the champagne," he reminds her. "They're waiting for us."

A cork pops on the other side of the door, and Fitz's complaints that they should wait are drowned by Skye and Simmons laughing. Someone knocks a while later, and Phil opens the door to two flutes of champagne, thoughtfully left just in front of the door. 

Being undercover often requires some time to decompress, to remember what is at the core of yourself. This time they're searching together, feeling out the blind alleys on their way to themselves. 

Melinda wraps her arm around his and they drink together, staring at each other as newlyweds would. The bubbles tickle the back of his nose and when he kisses her, the cool champagne bursts in his mouth. They can't waste it, but she's sweeter and he wants to watch the bubbles break on her skin. She traces circles with a wet finger on her chest, inviting his mouth to her breasts. 

Music begins in the other room, the creepy soundtrack of some old horror film drowning out the snatches of conversation. 

He sucks her nipple, then nuzzles his way across to the other. Melinda kisses him with more champagne in her mouth, easing him towards the bed as she pulls his towel off of his hips. Now she takes her time, tracing the hairs on his chest, following the lines of his arms with her hands. She's soft, half-dry and sweet with champagne and whatever fancy shampoo Stark keeps in his guest bathrooms. She tugs the blankets free, opening the sheets. He starts to lie down, but she stops him. 

"Like this." She straddles his lap, wet and slick against his thigh. His blood surges, starting to fill his erection again. It's soon enough that her touch is almost painful, but the electric juxtaposition only makes him want. Melinda flips them, pulling him down on top of her. She has his shoulders and she could pin him in a moment, but she wants him above her. She guides him close, but trusts him to choose the moment to enter her again. They kiss lazily, licking and teasing. 

He gulps the last of his champagne and rests on his elbow above her. She strokes his chin, running her thumb along his stubble. "Is this all right?"

"Of course it is." Phil's not sure if they're talking about sex, or their positioning, or the way they've forgotten to talk about protection, even though he knows she has that little implant in her arm, and he has no idea what T.A.H.I.T.I. did to him. It still feels irresponsible not to have acknowledged what this is. It's not sex, because she wouldn't let sex be so intimate. This has whispers, and she cedes control because she trusts him. He still relies on the hiss of her breath and the way she rubs anxiously against his hand. 

Taking his time, he takes her into his mouth, sucking until she's twisting on the bed. Melinda tugs him up, wanting him inside of her, but he resists and slips his fingers within her instead. She growls in protest, then gasps because he knows how to press, how to curl his fingers and how it taunts her. She resists, and that's sexier than the way her hair tumbles onto her shoulders when she turns them over. She's takes him deep, all too ready now, and he shivers suddenly because this was what he wanted, and she's his world. 

Everything fades but her. The expensive sheets, the reflected light of the other skyscrapers in the window, the taste of her left in his mouth: all of it pales before her, turning his senses to slaves of her touch. She rises and falls, rolling like the sea. He reaches for her hips, but she takes his hands and bends them down into the bed. Holding him down, Melinda stares at him, possesses him, takes him completely, and he surrenders, to her, to her body, and his own desire.

She guides his hand, finishing herself while he watches pleasure burn in her eyes. Her breathing rises, coiling into a sigh that comes from her belly. She melts against him, draping herself across his chest. 

He could stay there, trembling and panting, for the rest of eternity. Being separate from her stings, as if he's torn a bandage too soon, but she's back from the bathroom in a moment and she winds around him, holding him close. 

The movie in the other room vibrates through the wall, and the helicopters the spin over New York fade into a pleasant din of the unimportant. 

"This isn't sex," she announces to the back of his neck. 

Phil's almost sure he dreamed it, but the way her hands take his is real. 

"It can't be sex."

"Okay," he replies. It's never been sex, not in the easy sense of the word. It's been therapy, a reason to fight on, connection when everything else has failed. 

"Okay?" 

"It's never been sex, Melinda." 

She shifts, turning him onto his back so she can look into his eyes. "I never meant to hurt you--"

"And you didn't."

"I couldn't give you anything then. I'm not sure how much I have now--"

"I have you," he reminds her. Phil holds her cheek, smiling. "You're enough. You've always been."

She kisses the palm of his hand, shutting her eyes. She's half in tears when they open. "You've got me. Do I--?"

He sits up to kiss her, because words sometimes don't get through. She has him, every bit of him. She always has. 

Phil wakes in the night and she's still with him. She's there when the sun rises, and when it reflects across the windows across the street. She must have finished tai chi while he slept because she's warm and content against him beneath the blankets. Voices drift outside the bedroom. Coffee beans shatter and snap; breakfast sizzles. Fitz and Simmons cook, will they have woken Skye? Is there food in the refrigerator? 

Melinda sits up and steps from the bed, yawning. She tosses him the shirt he meant to sleep in. "Come on."

They pad barefoot in pyjamas to the table and are met with a very large stack of precariously balanced pancakes. Maria pours coffee and Pepper sets out plates. They share a look, Fitz flushes and suddenly can't meet Phil or Melinda's eyes. 

Skye sets two very large pancakes in front of them. "Seems you need this. Better carb load for that kind of exercise."

Melinda snorts her coffee. 

Maria pats her shoulder. "Sage advice. Pepper was just saying how important it is to keep yourself in good shape, weren't you?

Simmons adds bacon to their plates. "You'll need protein."

Melinda's hand finds his beneath the table. His thumb runs over the empty space on her finger, and he's grateful for all of this. He has equals instead of children, a partner instead of a wife, and this is right. This is who they are, and he's going to fight for it. 

And cherish every ridiculous moment of watching Tony Stark make more pancakes in his Hulk pyjamas, because that doesn't happen often. Good things are like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement I needed to try Phil's POV. I hope it worked.


End file.
